Page 37 of Ruin My Life
“Shit. My hand isfucked,” the first one grumbles, his breaths short and ragged.
“You knew she’d put up a fight,tonto del culo,” the second replies, his thick Spanish accent curling around every word. He hoists me higher on his shoulder like I weigh nothing at all. “Remember what she did to some of those Songbirds?”
Those Songbirds.
As in… not the two of them.
If they aren’t Songbirds—then who the hellarethey?
My head lolls against his back as the thought tumbles through my mind, heavy and slow.
Bloody-hand scoffs. “Are you seriously saying‘I told you so’right now, asshole?”
“Vamos.You can bitch later,” the other snaps, shifting me roughly. His arm tightens around my legs, fingers gripping the curve of my thigh like he's done this a hundred times.
I dangle there—limp, vulnerable, blood rushing to my head with every jostling step. My vision has already started to smear into blurry lines and bleeding colours. The lights from the hallway stretch like melting stars, and my ears pulse with each beat of my sluggish heart.
Still, I fight.
I strain to listen. To remember. To hold onto the slivers of information falling through the cracks of my mind.
Who they are.
Where we’re going.
Who the hell wants me enough to send these two after me.
The elevator hums. It’s faint, but familiar. We’re descending, all the way down to the underground parking garage.
Figures they’d be smart enough not to park on the street. These aren’t amateurs.
Neither one of them speaks as we reach the bottom. There’s just silence and the sound of my body shifting on his shoulder as he adjusts his grip again.
Then, leather.
Cool. Smooth. And reeking of that god-awfulBlack Iceair freshener every man on earth seems to think women find sexy.
My cheek smushes against the leather as I’m dropped into the back seat of a car. It vibrates under me, a soft purr in the chassis—engine running.
One of them slides into the driver’s seat, then the other gets in beside him.
Their conversation shifts.
Not about me.
Aboutdinner.
“Burgers?” one asks, casually.
“Eh. Let’s get Thai,” the other replies. “I’m not in the mood to shit bricks later.”
My mind screams.You just kidnapped someone, and now you’re debating chicken pad thai or McDonalds?
Unreal.
I want to yell. Laugh. Spit blood on their stupid leather seats.
But I can’t move.
